


Mixtape

by stoplightglow



Category: Stumptown (TV)
Genre: Dex Needs Therapy, F/F, Mostly Canon Compliant, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, The Cassette Tape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow
Summary: Fiona makes Dex a mixtape. Problem is, Dex can't get the damn thing in her car's stereo.
Relationships: Dex Parios & Her Car, Dex Parios/Fiona Finklebocker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	Mixtape

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd because i don't know anyone else who watches stumptown, lol. still, please enjoy <3

These days, Dex feels like she never sees the sun. Fiona drags them both through the night with reckless abandon, and Dex can’t seem to find a reason to dig her heels in and slow them down. What else is she supposed to do? When Ansel is asleep, it’s not like she’s got anything better going on. 

God knows Dex can’t sleep.

So she may as well be a groupie. Well, Fiona says she isn’t a groupie. But the way they hang out backstage together after Fiona performs, the way Dex leans into her side on the musty couch that every venue seems to have a replica of, there’s no other word for it — besides a relationship, and it sure as hell isn’t that.

“Hey.” Fiona drums her fingers along Dex’s arm until she looks at her. “I got you something.”

Dex’s eyes land on the beer balancing on the arm of the couch, Fiona’s hand wrapped loosely around it. She’s already buzzed, teetering towards drunk, but surely in no position to turn down a free drink. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”

“No,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t stop Dex when she reaches over to take it. She feels Fiona’s eyes on her as she gulps down half the bottle in one breath. “Not that.”

Dex leans forward to kiss behind Fiona’s ear before she can take her hand out of her pocket and reveal whatever she’s got. Gifts that aren’t beer aren’t good. The last thing Dex wants to do tonight is bullshit her way through accepting some token of affection; it’s always jewelry or another trinket that she’ll just have to pawn off on someone else. 

She needs to steer this in a different direction. Dex introduces her teeth and hears Fiona’s breath catch. Yeah, that could work.

“I know what you’re doing,” Fiona accuses, and Dex freezes. That's why Dex likes her, maybe. Fiona cares enough to call her out, but not enough to make her change. 

Dex discreetly takes another swig of beer before kissing Fiona’s neck. “You like it.”

“You’ll like this.” Fiona drops something in Dex’s lap. Dex pays the item no mind, moving her lips down to the junction of Fiona’s neck and shoulder. Schrödinger’s gift: if she doesn’t look down and find out, the thing in her lap can’t be a locket or earrings or something equally as terribly romantic.

From further backstage, someone calls Fiona’s name. Fiona groans. “Shit, I have to go. I’m supposed to meet with some label guy.” Dex doesn’t move until Fiona grabs her chin and pulls their mouths together. It’s closed-mouthed and chaste, nothing but a goodbye. 

After they separate, Dex gets stuck there for a second, just looking. Bright-eyed, blonde, sweaty, tousled; Fiona really is too beautiful for someone like her.

Fiona squeezes Dex’s hand as she gets up. Dex wipes her mouth with her forearm once Fiona’s gone, not surprised when red lipstick comes off.

She doesn’t want to look down.

No, fuck that. Dex grits her teeth, annoyed at herself. She was a U.S. Marine, she can handle whatever this is.

It’s a cassette tape.

Dex almost laughs. Scrawled across the plastic in Fiona’s shitty handwriting is  _ For Dex _ with a heart. She picks it up and wiggles it back and forth by its spools. Of course. Of  _ course. _ Why did she think she could predict Fiona?

She needs another beer. Maybe ten.

*

The mixtape lies forgotten in Dex’s coat pocket until she’s hungover on a Wednesday, searching for her keys to take Ansel to soccer practice. If she can’t find her shit keys to her shit car, she’s just going to have to call in a favor with Grey again.

When she pulls the cassette out of her coat, she gives it a nasty look and tosses it onto the couch. Priorities.

Her keys show up on the bottom shelf of the fridge. For the life of her, Dex can’t remember how they got there. The important thing is, she gets Ansel to practice, and only marginally late.

The tape is still there when they come home, taunting Dex from the couch. She shoves it under the cushion and ignores it.

*

Unfortunately, Dex gets lonely. Bitterly lonely. Not like that’s been a rarity since the explosion in Afghanistan that ripped her heart out, but by the time she’s six drinks in, it’s turned into the kind of desperation that makes it seem like a really good idea to call Fiona.

Fiona doesn’t pick up. Fuck.

The cassette under the couch feels like a pea under the mattress.

Dex gives in, because she’s stranded and shattered and can’t help herself. She doesn’t want to hear a lovey-dovey mix of songs that will make her want to tear her hair out, but she needs to do  _ something _ before she combusts.

It’s way too bright out as she shuffles out to her car and starts the ignition. She tries to shove the tape in, but it won’t load. What the hell? This Mustang’s still new enough to Dex that she hasn’t tried to use the cassette player yet, since she doesn’t live in nineteen-eighty, so there’s no way she’s broken it. If it was sold to her busted, then she’s got a bone to pick.

Opening her glove compartment, Dex digs around for her pocket knife. She sticks the flat blade in and tries to open up the machinery or something, she doesn’t know. Maybe she should call Grey. Cobwebs come out with the knife. Gross.

Finally, with an encouraging shove, the tape deck actually takes the mix. Dex kicks her feet up on the dash and hits play, feeling like one hell of a mechanic. Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” blasts out of the tinny speakers. She smiles despite herself. 

A terrible Devo cover comes next, followed by the Rolling Stones and some Bon Jovi. Dex starts nodding along to the beat without meaning to. Okay, so this isn’t what she was expecting; maybe she was flattering herself. God, Fiona. Why does Dex even try?

The first notes of “Alive” by Pearl Jam come through the stereo and knock the wind out of Dex like a punch to the gut. Her mind immediately flashes back — his voice, his smile, the smell of laundry detergent, the explosion, ears ringing, blood, vacant eyes — and she slams the eject button with her whole hand.

The song fizzles and dies. Before Dex can even level out her breathing, the deck makes a noise like Pop Rocks and sparks fly out, igniting the air with an electric smell. She’s about to reach her hand in when the whole radio apparatus shorts out. “Oh, shit.”

The entire control panel does nothing but spit out smoke. She can’t get the tape to start or rewind, much less come out.  _ “Shit.”  _ Dex lets her head fall forward onto the steering wheel like a pound of bricks. The horn honks, and she groans.

Looks like that tape’s going to be stuck in there for a while.


End file.
